


and all the boards did shrink

by Kt_fairy



Series: all the boards did shrink [1]
Category: The Terror (TV 2018), The Terror - Dan Simmons
Genre: Declarations Of Love, First Time, Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Getting Together, M/M, Oral Sex, Period Typical Attitudes, Post-Canon Fix-It, Trauma, Victorian Repression, Victorian Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:03:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22971445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kt_fairy/pseuds/Kt_fairy
Summary: He had been singularly, and understandably, distracted for the past few minutes, so had missed the sound of the front door closing two floors below, and then not long after the door to their rooms opening with its habitual faint creak. It was only the sound of footsteps on the short carpeted corridor outside their bedrooms that alerted him that someone was about.James listened, noting the step was too light to be either the landlady or the maid, and was momentarily relieved, as being found in bed by either lady would be horrible for all involved. The only other option was Dundy using his charm to sneak in to surprise him, a burglar, or worst of all, Francis.There was no time to make himself or the bed more presentable, as there came a gentle rap on the door frame that had James sitting bolt upright in bed, letting out a sharp intake of breath as the movement made the well used parts of him twinge in protest.
Relationships: Captain Francis Crozier/Commander James Fitzjames
Series: all the boards did shrink [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1781956
Comments: 22
Kudos: 146





	and all the boards did shrink

**Author's Note:**

> yep, this is one of those fics tagged with fluff and also sex Toys. That's just how it be.
> 
> Thank you, yet again, to the delighful MsKingBean for going over this on her week off, and for being an enabler.
> 
> See notes at the end for notes on the trauma tag.

James wiggled down the bed, settling his hips more fully upon the pillow shoved beneath them so he might be able to reach a better angle. He had long arms, yes, but his build was also long and thin (still too thin really, even after all these months), and when their advantages overrode one another at times like this James got a terrible pull in his shoulder. 

It was one of the downsides of indulging yourself in such a manner, but at least James did not have to reach as far as he would if he were only using his fingers.

His breath hitched as the improved position caused the polished, anatomically correct carved head to slip deeper inside of him. James flexed his fingers about the handle lest his hand cramp at an inopportune moment, the slight rocking motion it caused deep inside James forcing him to him swallow down a moan. 

James was quiet out of habit more than anything, as there was no need for it now. Francis had left their rooms a little after lunch and was not set to return for a while yet, and anyway James only ever did this when Francis was absent; mainly out of a sense of respect for the man, and also because the proximity would be too much. James already had to keep his mind from wandering to Francis’ surprisingly careful hands that were as marred with calluses as James’ own, to the brogue made soft by good humour, and, well, many others things that it would not do to think of one's dearest friend while one was buggering oneself!

James blew his hair off his forehead, setting his shoulders more firmly against the stiff mattress as he worked into himself harder until a wet noise filled the air alongside his gasping breaths. He was burning hot all over, and pulled his shirt up his lean chest to let the cool air of the room prickle at his sweaty skin as his pleasure grew and grew until he was almost desperate. James swallowed heavily as he brought his free hand too his dry mouth, trying to summon up some spit to lick across his palm before taking his prick in hand and pulling himself roughly to his end, half curling in on himself as he gasped through his pleasure.

With a sigh James let himself sprawl on the sheets, coughing twice as he tried to catch his breath while his head swum almost painfully for a moment or two. He rubbed at his bad eye, then slowly pushed himself onto his elbows, wincing as what was now little more than a length of ivory jabbed at his insides. He pulled it out and left it on the to-be laundered shirt he had used to preserve the cleanliness of his pillow, and he reached out to sip from the glass of water left on his bed side table.

He had been singularly, and understandably, distracted for the past few minutes, so had missed the sound of the front door closing two floors below, and then not long after the door to their rooms opening with its habitual faint creak. It was only the sound of footsteps on the short carpeted corridor outside their bedrooms that alerted him that someone was about. 

James listened, noting the step was too light to be either the landlady or the maid, and was momentarily relieved, as being found in bed by either lady would be horrible for all involved. The only other option was Dundy using his charm to sneak in to surprise him, a burglar, or worst of all, Francis. 

There was no time to make himself or the bed more presentable, as there came a gentle rap on the door frame that had James sitting bolt upright in bed, letting out a sharp intake of breath as the movement made the well used parts of him twinge in protest.

“James?”

“Yes Francis?” 

“Are you well?” Francis’ voice was smooth as always when he was anxious for another, and James wished he could go to him and ease his worries - but he was almost naked and horribly filthy, a thing that made his ears burn where the sweaty curls of his hair touched them. “Only you’ve retreated to bed at three o’clock in the afternoon.”

“I’m fine!” James managed to say remarkably evenly given how his face was burning, and pushed his fingers through his hair to try and neaten it. “Francis. Please…”

“I have heard that before,” Francis sounded as if he did not know whether to be amused or concerned as he slowly opened the door.

The corridor was never bright even on the clearest day, and James had lowered the lamp in his room. Even so, Francis was always clear to James, from his moods to his wishes to the expressions on his dear face, which James knew was now one of gentle, appropriate concern.

James was also aware that he was in a flushed disarray, his underweight form only highlighted by the loose hanging linen shirt he had on, and the sheets he firmly held to his lap were far too rumpled to be from an afternoon nap. The latter a thing that in and of itself would cause Francis to worry as James had not needed to take to bed out of exhaustion for over a month now. 

“I am all right Francis. Really!” James insisted, putting on a cheery smile even though he knew his continued protestations would only draw unnecessary suspicion. He could not remember much of the walk south, but it seems he had claimed he was well all the way along Back’s Fish River until he had collapsed in a faint once over the threshold of Fort Resolution. He had been thought dead for some minutes, and had caused much alarm and grief until the ever vigilant Mr Bridgens had spotted his shallow, slow breathing. 

Francis looked suitably unconvinced by James’ claim, that brow of his arched as eloquently as anything the romantic poets had ever wrote about as he crossed his arms over his broad chest, the dark green of his coat catching the dull light. James twisted his hands in his sheets as he withered slightly under the look, aware of every drop of spend and sweat drying on his skin.

“James,” Francis said in that blunt direct tone of a captain. “What has happened?”

“Oh, nothing to worry about Francis,” James insisted, and made to push himself back to lean against the headboard so he was not sitting quite so oddly in the middle of the bed. Two things occurred in quick succession when he did this; his tender backside let itself be known, and a careless movement of his leg caused his foot to collide with a firm, weighty thing, that was knocked from under the sheets to land on the floor with a heavy thump. 

James closed his eyes. There was no mistaking what that was. Francis had been at sea since he was a boy, the same as James, and spent a deal of it in the oceans where whalers roamed. He had to have seen what men carved for their wives, or indeed to sell, from the tusks and bones and bits of wood that sailors always managed to come across.

The dense silence felt like it went on for an age, James hardly daring to breathe as he let a creeping, cold mortification take over. He did not fear ruin as he knew Francis would not tell a soul of this, he would not endanger James even if he flew into a righteous rage, for Francis would protect those men he brought out of the Arctic even at their most undeserving. And that was why James felt for him as he did.

A sound of movement had James chancing a glance over at the door. He found Francis’ expression to be carefully neutral and shaded by the way he had dipped his head away from James, a thing that made him wish he had been stronger in the face of his base desires. Since recovering from scurvy and flushing the lead from his body James had been wracked with burning, throbbing, desperate wants that were almost as keen as when he had been a midshipman. The difference being that James was a few years from forty now, and should have a greater control over himself than he had at fourteen. But he was as weak as ever - and now this had happened.

“I shall be downstairs,” Francis said brusquely, stepped quickly from James’ room and closing the door quietly behind him. 

James stared at the dark wood a moment, then threw himself back down onto the bed, palms pressing hard into his eyes so he would not cry.

* ***** *

James had considered hurling himself from his window about half a dozen times while he was making himself presentable; a tragic makassar related accident to end the illustrious career of a Naval officer.

It would be no more humiliation than he already bore, James thought as he pulled his trousers up over his sharp hipbones, heaving a great sigh when he slipped the braces over his shoulders. He did the best that he could with his hair which was yet to regain its old shine, and redressed in the pale yellow waistcoat and dark blue frock coat that he had been wearing this morning. He wanted to look as decent as possible after what Francis had seen, and had decided that frugality was better than putting on less dandish clothing in an obvious and wheedling display of contrition and humility for the seriousness of the conversation he was about to embark on.

He did not take his time descending the short flight of stairs to their front room, but did pause outside of the door, brushing his foot against the plush, patterned red carpet while he steeled himself. Francis might choose to ignore that he had seen and now knew of James, might have thought that silence and discretion were preferable to the great discomfort of discussing this, might be sitting in his chair glaring at _The Times_ spread over his knees while he packed his pipe as if nothing had happened. It was the rushing hope brought on by burgeoning panic, but James took courage from it as he reached for the door handle.

Francis was standing with his back to the door, hands held tightly against the small of his back as he looked out of the window. It was a dull day outside, the London smog hanging low in the air, and what light there was filtering through the net curtains threw Francis' straight back and set shoulders into a hazy edged silhouette.

James closed the door gently behind himself and stepped forward around the edge of the sofa, drawing himself up to his full height when Francis twisted to look at him, his expression blank and unreadable.

“I shan’t deny it,” James proclaimed, his voice slightly high pitched to his own ears. “We owe one another that at least.”

“And what is it that you are not denying?” Francis asked, staying rooted to the spot by the window, implacable and steady as ever.

James narrowed his eyes, ignoring the terrible fear and shame roiling in his belly that was never full and yet shuddered at the thought of food. He had enough pride left that he would not simper and plead and reduce himself as might be expected of a man of such tastes as he. James was an officer of the Royal Navy after all, and had been brought up in its not so tender care to believed that that attack was the only form of action worth taking. “That I indulge in the sin of sodomy,” he said quietly, not so riled that he dare say it proudly, hands clenching tightly at his sides. “Never when I am posted aboard ship. I obey the Articles as is demanded of me, and am no fool. ”

“I never once thought you were,” France said at once, a frown passing over his face as something about him became defensive.

That this, a declaration of foolishness, was what Francis had picked up on out of all James had admitted to left James wrong footed a moment. He had been expecting a stern lecture, or taciturn disapproval, or even a harsh word or two (a whisky sodden Francis had purposefully added dirtiness to the list of charges for a man already set to be flogged, which was not as cruel as some captains might be but it was certainly no kindness), not this strange, almost instinctive defence of James from his self-doubts.

“Anyway,” James said after a silence. “I am sorry you… you were exposed to that. It was not my intention, you must know that to be so. The very last thing I ever intended is for you to come to have such knowledge of me. Of _that,_ and of… ” James swallowed, feeling as if he was being scorched of his skin, digging his blunt nails into his palms as he whispered, “ _my tastes._ ” 

Francis finally looked away as he nodded sharply, James catching the flush spreading from the top of his collar up to his cheeks. “The... only from knowing you so well you understand. But the latter is not wholly a surprise, James.”

James reached out behind himself until he found the back of the sofa, then sat down heavily enough on the hard cushions that he winced. The only other living soul who knew him so well as Francis did was his dear brother William, and that was only because they had grown up together. James had let his guard down on the Arctic out of fear of his own rapidly approaching mortality, and in the relief and shock that came from having survived those icebound horrors James must have let this most strictly controlled part of himself show.

And despite guessing the truth Francis had not drawn away from James, had only remained as staunch and warm a friend as he had been since he had hauled James from the burned ruin of Carnivale. James sighed deeply, and passed his hand over his eyes as he tried to keep a hold on his emotions. 

“If you - ah," Francis began, voice tight with discomfort. "If you would like _company_ , I can clear out for an evening to my club…”

“No," James said, tipping his head back against the elegantly carved wooden frame of the sofa. "Thank you, but no. I would not bring… not here," (‘ _not where you are’_ James thought, allowing himself a moment of overwrought dramatics). “You need not worry for your reputation or your person. I am quite in control of myself.”

“I am not worried,” Francis protested, the sound of him rapping his knuckles on the table muffled by the tablecloth.

“Besides, I am all scars and nightmares these days," James huffed. "I have missing teeth and can barely walk when it’s damp out, and my appetite remains dismal. I cannot think I would tempt anyone.”

There was a weighty silence, and then the sound of footsteps on the thin rug before the sofa creaked gently as Francis sat beside him. James caught the bitter smell of the coal smog that clung to Francis' clothes as he straightened, meeting his eyes that had become stormy and grey in the dull light that purveyed this day.

“You are young still, and good looking," Francis said with a brittle certainty, and James felt his face heat. "I am sure a - a man would not mind.”

“No. I appreciate the comfort, Francis. Or that you even deign to speak of this, but no. I cannot.”

“Not even with a man you trust?”

James chewed on the inside of his lip as he shook his head and looked away, clasping his hands tightly on his lap.

“All right,” Francis said quietly, and even though James did not want this conversation to continue he still felt the loss when Francis stood and moved back across the room. “They had that book you wanted in the window of the shop down the road, so I picked it up for you.”

James took a moment, and a deep breath, then turned what was left of his smile up at Francis. The both of them ignored the shake of his hand as he reached out to take the book from Francis, running his fingers over the lettering on the spine before flipping it open.

It was a Marryat, one of those published posthumously while they had been in stuck out in the ice. James knew it was meant for children, as were most of Commander Marryat's works, but that had never prevented the young officers of the Royal Navy reading every edition of his sea stories they could lay their hands on. James had retained a fondness for the man’s books, and had thought it a heavy loss when he had discovered that he had died while James had been on the brink of doing the same out in the Arctic. 

While recuperating James had read the book about the Children of the New Forest set during the English Civil War, which was just the sort of quaint thing one needed while plagued by nightmares. This edition, that Francis had found for him, was about a boy who had been stranded on a desert Island for all his life, and found the world outside of it to be a strange, extraordinary place. There was some sort of metaphor in there, James was sure of it, just waiting to reveal itself, but at the moment he had more pressing matters to turn his attention to.

"Thank you,” he whispered with great feeling, and knew from the way Francis held his gaze that he understood just what he was being thanked for.

Francis dithered, rocking back on his heels as he looked down at James, then neatly tugged up the front of his dark trousers before sitting once more. James watched him as he did so, and they looked one another a moment before the horrid tension was dissolved by smiles and a helplessly strangled laugh of relief from James.

“I think when we disliked one another there was a less fractious atmosphere in the air than the past few minutes,” Francis observed, a lovely bright smile on his face.

“It was certainly a less shameful and embarrassing atmosphere…”

“We shall put it behind us all,” Francis said in that achingly gentle way of his. “Men have done things far worse than that, and I think I will survive the surprise. All I ask is your continued discretion - for your safety as much as for my sake - and…” he shifted, and James could tell from the look on his face that he was about to be ruthlessly blackmailed. “That you eat more. I know meat is distasteful after what occurred, I do, but your brother has begun to worry at me about your weight.”

“For you, yes I shall,” James said, voice rasping slightly as he looked from the earnest kindness on Francis’ face to the book in his hands - a kindness he did not deserve. 

Maybe he had spoken with too much feeling, or it was simply that Francis now knew enough of the truth to recognise what was in James’ eyes or voice. Whatever it was, this oasis of good cheer became rather a brief one as Francis stiffened suddenly, his expressions jumping between disbelief and alarm, and James knew that he had worked him out.

James was on his feet in an instant, and almost tripped over the end of the sofa as Francis stood also.

“James… ”

“I am sorry, Francis. I… ” James started, taking a graceless, frightened step back as Francis took one towards him, his heart beating so hard in his chest that he thought Francis must be able to hear it.

“Ja - will you stop!” Francis snapped, no doubt due to the strains of this most trying afternoon, then sighed greatly. “James, do you think I would show you violence?”

“No,” James said at once. “I do not think it. I trust you, as a sober man, would not. But any man is capable of lashing out if angered.”

"I am not angry," Francis stated, fist resting on his hip, and he watched James as if waiting for him to explain himself. Finally he shook his head, and moved past James to lean his arm upon the mantelpiece, the firelight catching the silk thread of his dark blue waistcoat and the copper of his fine lashes, as well as the bewilderment in his expression. 

Of course he would troubled by this, Francis was only a man. But, James thought as he looked at him standing there, somehow being noble in the face of this unseemly matter, there was doubt also. 

Self-doubt always lingered about Francis, born of his natural shyness and the way his Irish birth was always used as a stick to beat him with, and James did not like to see it. He had never spoken to James about Miss Cracroft, not once, but he had gathered enough from Francis’ past drunken misery, and from those who did not know how to measure their talk. Francis had suffered for love of someone who did not love him enough in return, and now was burdened with the knowledge that James felt something for him that no man should for another. 

A man might well doubt himself, being so unsuitably loved. James could not hide his secrets away once more, but he could at least have Francis know that his affection was a sincere one.

"James..." Francis began, voice tight, and James found himself speaking over him.

“I know that we faced terrible things together, inside ourselves and out, and those pressures cause strong emotions and attachments. It is the way of humanity, I think. Especially… well, we know what each of us did in order to survive, and what you did for me. I do not know if you wish to hear this Francis, but do not think that this - my regard for you - is a passing thing. I am no child unschooled in his own emotions, and you know I am not flighty by nature. My affection for you is what it is, and as I hold you as a dear friend I will not deny it or how honestly I feel it."

Francis blinked at James, then turned his face away, some internal struggle going on as he clenched his hand upon the mantle half a dozen times before whispering. "I am glad to know it.”

“Glad?” 

“Yes.”

James almost scoffed. “Are you mocking me?”

“No.”

“Swear it,” James said with a hauty toss of his head, prepared for the cruelty that men could not seem to help when it came to these sordid little matters.

Francis took a deep breath and met James’ eyes once more. “I do,” he said, then looked like he was holding down a laugh. “Is it really so shocking James, you look as if you are about to have a turn.”

“I think…” James looked around this room that was of no great size, not any bigger than _Erebus_ ' great cabin at any rate, and was begin to feel both too cramped and too large by the minute. "Might… " James swallowed, and walked on unsteady legs to stand before Francis, the heat of the fire pricking his leg through the wool of his trousers that he wiped his palms on before reaching out to touch the back of Francis' hand. "I'm mad for you, Francis, so feel I am allowed a little shock."

Francis shook his head with no small amount of disbelief, and turned his hand to take James' in his own as he spoke. 

James, for all the filthy half imaginings that had taken up his nights and afternoons (and a few mornings), was so overcome by this simple gesture that he barely heard what Francis said. Instead James picked up his hand and, lord bless him, allowed himself the indulgence of pressing a chaste kiss to Francis' weather worn, scarred knuckles. An action which had Francis’ words stumbling to a halt. 

“I am sorry that I did not see it, Francis,” James whispered. “I worried so about myself that I did not dare look in hope of any return of feeling.” He glanced up to meet Francis’ eyes that had never once since their return home been so perfectly blue as they had when surrounded by ice, and felt himself become horribly embarrassed again. 

“I… I have felt for you for a while,” Francis said steadily, giving James’ hand a cautious squeeze. “I had suspected that you preferred male company for a while before that, but knew such a preference does not mean you would want me - old and worn as I am - in return.”

“Oh Francis. I do. I would have been content with only your company, such was the depth of my…“ James stopped himself before he started gushing, knowing how his words could be taken as hollow, genteel declarations after Francis had almost caught him buggering himself. A thing that he had not shown any reaction to at all, leaving James unsure of what Francis knew, either practically or from oft twisted rumour, of intimacy between two men - or if he might think such things would be expected of him.“I was content with only company and friendship from you, my desire was my own. And even now I would be content with only holding your hand and similar closeness. Nothing - uh, _more_.”

If the quirk of his brow was anything to go by Francis was almost amused by that, even as he let his eyes trail over James’ face as if he were some fine work worthy of a papists devotion. He was not as handsome as he had once prided himself in being, James knew that perfectly well, but one would not know it from how Francis was looking at him in this moment. 

“James?”

“Yes.”

“Might I kiss you?”

“Yes,” James breathed, taking Francis’ face in his hands as a strong arm looped about his middle and he bent to kiss him firmly on his soft, expressive Irish mouth once, twice, and when he tried to pull away Francis tried to kiss twice more with such delicacy James felt a surge of heat in his stomach. 

“To see what you had been doing,” Francis murmured against his lips, hand flexing against James’ waist. “To know it, to have the image of it in my mind, I was… I do not know how you did not see how I was restraining myself, James.”

“Good Christ,” James gasped, stepping closer as he was also struck by what images Francis' mind could have created. “What a way to come to this,” he mused as he kissed Francis again. “It’s perfectly ridiculous, but I cannot find it in myself to care.” James hesitated, blush deepening as he trailed his fingers through Francis’ soft hair. “Would… I do not wish to be too forward, but would you like to go upstairs?”

* ***** *

James had backed himself up against the already closed door to Francis' bedroom, one hand gripping the sleeve of Francis’ half undone shirt tightly while the other cupped his neck as James was kissed with no lack of passion or care. James had no great experience of kisses, but he found himself become rather giddy and warm, and wonderfully aware of the broad hand cupping his waist and the other one pressed securely to his back.

Francis was not unused to being so close to a man; James could tell from the way he touched him, and how smoothly he slipped his sturdy leg between James’ thighs, pressing his hip to James’ groin and making him gasp. It would not have taken a great deal of work on James’ part to guess which man had garnered Francis’ attentions before him, but he had become wholly distracted by pressing kisses beneath the disordered collar of Francis’ collar, never mind the downward path Francis’ hand was taking over back of James’ unbuttoned waistcoat. 

James pushed his backside from the door to let Francis’ hand descend further, the motion causing hips and thighs to shift against their stiffening pricks, and pull a groan from the both of them. James thought of rutting himself to desperate completion against Francis’ leg, and how little time such a thing would take despite what he got up to earlier today (or maybe because of it, that phantom sensation of something pushing deep inside James was yet to fade and the thought of it made his cock twitch in his trousers), and tipped his head back against the door with another groan.

Francis’ fingers had come to the swell of James’ buttocks, and they pressed between them to where James was still sensitive. James gasped at the pressure even though it was sadly dulled by the fabric of his trousers, Francis’ lips finding the column of his throat when he swallowed hard. 

He wanted to ask if Francis would have him. If he wanted to see for himself what James had been doing to himself earlier, if Francis wanted to see that and _then_ fuck him - which was a thought that almost had James' socked feet slipping on the floorboards as he writhed and whined against the door. It was a lot of lewd desire to impart on a man in one go, and James was not so caught up on his swell of arousal, and the strange joy of having Francis’ unexpectedly confident hands on him, to let them slip out. 

Instead James blindly tugged open the front of Francis’ trousers and got his hand on the wonderfully thick, firm prick that had been poking his thigh, tipping his head so he might see how it looked with his long fingers wrapped around it.

Francis took in a deep breath as James fondled him, pulling his attention from James’ neck to look at him in the eye with no small amount of amusement. “Does it live up to your expectation?”

“You are intolerable,” James pronounced with a breathless smile, circling his fist around Francis’ prick with the clumsiness that came from a lack of practice. “And yes, it does.”

Francis shook his head, hand moving from James’ hip to run up and down the straight fly of his modern trousers, the line of which was ruined by how prick forward James was. Francis ducked his head into James’ neck, nipping delightfully sharp kisses over his skin and up to the hinge of his jaw. 

“You live up to expectation also,” Francis whispered into his ear, and James’ breath caught in his chest, eyes widening as he stared past Francis’ head to his immaculately made bed, fist faltering on his cock.

_That_ was not expected, not in the least. James had not had the time to dwell on if Francis had let his desires run away with him as they had with James, but now that the thought had been thrust upon him (as it where) he found his interest peaked greatly, and gave Francis’ cock a squeeze that pulled a moan out of him.

“You have been intimate with men before.” It was a statement more than a question, murmured into Francis’ hair as James began working his cock faster

“Yes,” Francis admitted easily, the hand grabbing James’ back side tightening. “In my much younger days, though.”

It had to have been Ross. Sir James Clarke Ross! Good Lord. James almost laughed. 

“I should not be able to shock you then,” he grinned.

“I do not invite you to try,” Francis grunted, curling his palm around the side of James’ neck to pull him into another kiss that became sloppy and uncoordinated as Francis began to rock his hips into the circle of James’ fist. 

James would have dropped to his knees on the hard floor where he stood and let Francis finish in his mouth. But he did not want to appear quite so brazen during their first intimacy, and instead slowly walked Francis backwards until he sat down on the end of his bed. 

“ _James_ ,” he panted, eyes wide as he watched James kneel gracelessly on the thick rug that the bed was placed on. James smiled up at him, going up on his knees in order to kiss Francis once more before dropping to sit on his heels as he took Francis' cock in hand once more. 

“Do not try to last,” James murmured, pressing his palm against his own straining desire.

“ _Jesus christ,_ ” Francis groaned, grabbing James’ shoulder when he licked slowly up the side of his prick, laying the flat of his tongue against the red, glistening head before taking his cock into his mouth and wasted no time in sucking him down. 

Being out of practice at this particular act showed itself less than with others, James found, as men tended to go wild at having a mouth on them no matter if it was a two-bob doxie or a skilled lover. Francis’ hand went from James’ shoulders to cup the back of his neck, then up to lay on his head while James dragged his lips up and down the fine length in his mouth. Francis was neither grabbing nor demanding, neither guiding James into a rhythm that he wanted nor carelessly pushing his cock deep into his mouth and throat, he simply rested his hand there, fingers passing gently through James’ hair every so often to keep it from his face. 

James swallowed around the head Francis’ cock, sighing to himself when he heard Francis groan above him, and massaged his palm against his own trapped prick as he did it again. And again. Trying to time it with the hitching of Francis’ breath and the helpless jerk of his hips so that when he went off in James’ mouth with a flurry of curses, James was not half choked to death on his spending. 

He pulled away when Francis’s prick stopped twitching in his mouth, tipping his head back to make a show of swallowing. Francis was breathing heavily through his nose, a delightful flush running all the way from the open collar of his shirt and up the smooth, white skin of his throat to his cheekbones, eyes bright behind the fan of his fair lashes as he looked down at James. 

“Did that live up to expectations?” James asked with a quirked brow of his own, licking his tender, bruised bottom lip as he gave Francis’ softening prick a parting rub for good measure before tucking it away. 

Francis blinked dazedly at him, then smiled. “Almost.”

“I say!” James retorted, his ruffled feathers mostly put on, and climbed uneasily to his feet, dusting his off his sore knees with two perfunctory sweeps of his hands. “Very well then,” he tossed his hair imperiously, then wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “I shall remember that, next time.”

“I was counting on it,” Francis murmured, reaching out to touch James’ hip and pull him a step closer between his spread knees.

“You devil,” James accused, deciding to be contrary and tried to straddle Francis’ lap. A tussle followed, playful in nature of course, and Francis' unwillingness to use any real force on James, holding his wrist in grip that a child could break out of, had James giving in, and he very graciously allowed himself to be dumped back onto Francis' bed which was a damned sight softer than his own.

He let his legs splay out so his toes rested on the floor, shifting his hips so he could gain some relief from pressing his aching cock against the front of his trousers. He adjusted his head so he was not laying on his hair, then turned to give Francis an expectant look and found that he was on the receiving end of an appraising gaze.

His hands went to his ribs, worried that how slender he was had become unattractive with the way his open waistcoat and thin shirt were laying over his torso. Francis caught his fingers up, shifting so he could kiss James' cheek, the corner of his mouth, then his sensitive bottom lip to draw a gasp out of him. "I was admiring you," Francis murmured. "I think I would always find you handsome."

James felt like he was on fire all over, and he squirmed against the sheets as he bit down a retort that pointed out every line and scar and weakness he bore. " _God_ ," he whined, squeezing Francis' fingers as he nuzzled him into another kiss, pressing their joined hands against his now very insistent cockstand. 

"Signals received," Francis smiled, giving James a playful squeeze.

"Does feel like one could fly a signal flag off it," James commented a little fractiously, letting out an inelegant laugh when Francis snorted in amusement. "Francis. _Please_. I know I have indulged already today… "

"I know," Francis said as he started on the buttons of James' fly. "I never thought I would be jealous of a block of wood…"

"Ivory," James corrected with a sigh as his prick was finally freed.

" _Ivory._ Bloody hell," Francis grumbled, ducked down to kiss James again as he pushed his hand into his trousers.

Every callus and rough part of his hand pulled against James' skin just as he had thought they might. He hardly got to feel it though, as Francis only gave his cock a perfunctory couple of tugs before he reached further into James' trousers.

James moaned aloud as he drew his heels up onto the bed, knees knocking against Francis' side when his legs fell open to give Francis’ warm, dry, exploring hand more room to find its way. "You needn't be jealous," James sighed, clutching onto Francis' firm bicep as he was breached by strong, insistent fingers. "I would think of you, even when I tried not to." 

Francis cursed under his breath as if that were a surprise to him. He pressed against James’ side, ducking his head to kiss at his bared throat when James threw his head back and moaned out loud as he was given a thorough postillioning. 

The drag of Francis' arm against James's cock, and the weight and the warmth of him, along with the scrape of his stubble against James' skin had his nerves so alight that he was not destined to last very long. 

He let his heels drop from the bed once the last burning ember of his pleasure had been wrung from him, panting silently when he turned to look at Francis as he extracted his hand from James' trousers. 

They smiled at one another slowly, and James reached out to curl his hand around the side of Francis’ neck. “Well.”

“Well,” Francis agreed, holding his arm up instead of leaning down to give James a kiss like he had hoped. The sleeve was spotted with damp patches, and it took James’ clouded mind a second or two to realise that it was his own release.

“Well indeed!” James said, tilting his body towards Francis, hooking his ankle over his calf as he smoothed his hand from Francis’ shoulder to touch the cloth buttons of his waistcoat. “It seems I shall just have to undress you, it is the proper thing to do.”

“How noble of you,” Francis grinned as James began slipping open the buttons. 

* ***** *

The daylight had yellowed and the sky turned dirty dark grey outside of the living room windows, making the air inside the room feel close and dull even with the lamps burning away brightly so James might see the text of his book.

He was reading out loud, sitting perfectly straight with his elbow leaning casually on the arm of the sofa, the foot of his crossed leg flexing whenever he emphasised a phrase or read some dramatic piece of speech. At every turn of the page James glanced across the room at Francis who was tucked into the desk in the corner attending to his correspondence, the scratch of his pen on paper soft and comfortable, and was pleased by the relaxed set of Francis’ broad shoulders and the contented look on the half of his face that James could see.

He may well look content, if he felt the same bone deep satisfaction and wonderful sore spots and aches that James did after their spirited afternoon in bed. James smiled to himself at the memory of it, tipping his head so his neck, and the light bruise that had been nipped into his skin, brushed against his collar.

Francis glanced over at the hitch in his breath, a flush spreading over his face as James made no secret of the fact that he had been watching him. He twisted to look at James right back, eyebrow raised, and the warming atmosphere in the room was broken by a smart knock on the door and the housekeeper bustling in with supper.

“Good evening, Mrs Dove,” James said as he jumped to his feet and went to clear the table of newspapers and the detritus that built up without a steward keeping things neat. “The supper hour has crept up on us again.”

"Good evening, captain," she said in her soft voice, moving the heavy silver tray from her hip to lay it gently upon the table. She was a small, slight woman with a face that would have been doll-like in her youth, and who possessed a strength in her forearms that would not be out of place on a weather deck (and which, James had said to Francis on more than one occasion, she used to hurl out those ruffians who did not promptly pay their rent). "It often happens when one is spending the evening quietly.”

“Indeed. Yes,” James said as he watched her lay the table, glad for the distraction more than the food, even though their landlady's cooking was always excellent. 

“You had the care of your granddaughters this afternoon, did you not?” Francis asked from across the room, turned fully in his seat to look at the table as he neatly folded one of his letters. “How are they?”

“Very well sir, thank you,” she said with a warm smile, grey eyes kind as always. “Do you require anything else, sirs?”

“No, thank you Mrs Dove,” Francis said as he stood and stepped around the desk chair, the both of them waiting for the lady to leave before they sat at the table.

James’ appetite was not always the strongest these days, especially not when it came to fatty meats that reminded him of the rancid and unpleasant things they had eaten to survive. Usually he would shamefully pick at his plentiful plate of fatty, breaded cutlets, concentrating on the vegetables mostly, his stomach sometimes cramping like it had when they had first been given proper food after so long scratching out a living on the frozen land. 

He had given his word to eat, even though he was sure the circumstances under which it had been given were greatly changed by their love making, and as he picked up his cutlery James determined to clear his plate even if it took him an hour to do it. 

Francis’ ankle touched his under the table, and James glanced up to find him casually applying salt to his food. “Have you seen that they have a collection of ivories on display at Trinity house?”

James narrowed his eyes, but nodded as he chewed his mouthful of food, well aware that he was being distracted from the task ahead of him. 

"Well. I thought we might look at it tomorrow, and then you can show me your _ivory_ and see how it compares.”

James pressed his lips together in an effort to keep down his smile, reaching for his lemon water that he sipped delicately before saying with the utmost nonchalance. “Showing you it’s every facet and quality would be my greatest pleasure.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Tag note - James has problems with eating, based on the starvation and the 'horrid things' they had to eat to survive. He is aware of it, and makes an effort to being to recover at the end. 
> 
> I'm not going to link to the Victorian dildo's I looked up, I'll let that be between you and your own search history!!


End file.
